


Café Coluding

by LittleNieel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cafe AU, Comments are appreciated, M/M, Written for Shits and Giggles, but is actually pretty good, dumb love story, james is hot and doesn't know it, mod sofia writes steve's POVs and mod ariel writes bucky's POVs, steve is a gay mess who acts immediately on his impluses, the writer who writes bucky's pov is a gay mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-09-17 16:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16977648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleNieel/pseuds/LittleNieel
Summary: Steve and Bucky see each other in a café and immediately they both start plotting to see each other again no matter what it takes.





	1. Steve's POV

 Steve stands at the counter, yet again, trying to tell the barista, again, that his name was Steve Rogers. "Steve Rogers. S-T-E-V-E  R-O-G-E-R-S."

     
“K’ man,” replies the barista, who looks like he doesn’t care. He's going to forget. Steve knows this and it infuriates him. How many times does he have to go through this? The only time he has to himself is the short walk to Starbucks and his coffee, but every time he gets his soy Frappuccino with “S Robbers” written on it a little piece of him dies on the inside. Not today though, he had told the barista, not today. Or so he thought.  
     
“S. Robbers?” _OH COME ON!_ Steve’s head shrilled. Steve walked right up to the counter, red-faced in embarrassment. “Are you S. Robbers?” asks the barista _stupidly_ (Steve was feeling mean). But, as his mother taught him, be nice because being mean isn't worthy of his time.

“Yes, I am S. Robbers.” Steve says through gritted teeth. He pays politely, and without looking at the barista, throws his change into the tip jar, because he knows that the man probably is just stressed and he needs the money anyway. With that, he turns on his heel and walks out, his thoughts silently berating the barista for a whole six blocks. Steve walks in a fast clip, exasperated, the Frappuccino tight in his grip. He pauses, and six people bump into him from all sides. New York, you know. Apologizing furiously, Steve moves out of the way of the oncoming crowd and, without a second thought, throws his frappe in the trash, a weight falling off of his shoulders. Suddenly, his watch beeps, alerting him that his lunch break is up. But Steve has a better idea.

“I’m gonna find a new coffee place, and not another Starbucks. Something cheap but good.” he mutters to himself, receiving strange looks from everyone who heard him. Steve walks for about two miles, which happens in New York, a lot (Steve has many run down shoes for that reason), until he sees a new place. It's small, a nook in between two office buildings, with a chalkboard sign reading: "Coffee, Sandwiches, Frappes, and more!"  Through the windows he can see cozy little chairs and sofas just waiting to be sat upon. A man, likely an employee, is wiping down the counter, he is the only one in there. The scene is perfect, just the right amount of no-one-being-in-there-silence he liked.

Steve is sold the minute he sees the font on the sign. He strides right in, a small chiming bell alerting everyone in the café, well just the barista, that Steve Rogers has arrived.


	2. Bucky's POV

_ Racing down the highway under the bridge, the shade feels freezing as it hails large boulders of ice over his head. Racing faster and faster wearing a bright yellow raincoat he picks up a weathered box filled with things and runs faster. Down into the subway where a homeless shelter is, he runs over the gray metal fences and throws a fireball at the thing behind him. He exits through the large hole in the wall, the city distraught from the chaos. The building doors open, a school. Bolting towards the right he opens a brown door. Everything around him is brown. Bright golden light engulfs the room, strong hands roam. The floor and ceiling littered with stuff he’s been keeping over the years. Bangs emit from the window. Going over and looking out, the city is a long stretch of dull browns, but a wires with multi-colored flags strung above it all, connected to his house and his vision of it ends when it climbs over a slightly taller building alongside many others. It connects to something else. Climbing out window and onto train car connected to string, riding it. The cart shakes, through the left window is a desert, right is the rest of the city, lively. The car breaks off and he throws himself threw the exit, grabbing the line and continuing on and looking down. Falling down--- _

__ James’ eyes blearily blink open, the sun softly hitting him through the blinds. Scrunching his face from the suddenness of morning, he stuffs his face back into his pillow. A sudden adrenaline slaps his ass awake and he jumps up, his abs glistening with sweat from the newfound worry that he’s probably late (again), grabbing his phone with super speed and checking the time. 8:40 am. 

_ Fucking Shit. _

James flings his phone onto his bed and basically dives into his bathroom. A 30 second shower isn’t a strange occurrence in his busy life, but a 10 second breakfast is a new record. He shoves two pieces of bread into his mouth as he gets dressed in the closest clothes he can get his hands on. Pulling a blue plaid shirt over his head, and aggressively pulling up some ass-fitting jeans he normally wouldn’t wear in broad daylight, he quickly acquires his glasses (+10 vision activated). 

As he swings his apartment door wide open, the door slamming into the little door-stopper instead of the fragile wall, he remembers he has a bag with all his needed objects for the day and runs back with the repeating word “dumbass” on loop in his head. He grabs his phone, a light sweater, his bag. Messily, in a last ditch effort to look ok, James puts his hair up into a loose, but secure, ponytail; some of it slipping out and trailing the sides of his slightly stubbled face as he hurries down the spirals of stairs to get to his job before 9:30 strikes.

Now with 17 minutes to spare before he misses his train, he runs like he’s being chased by a serial killer and slams through the cafe’s door, giving some of the customers a fright, and sees Sam’s look of disappointment and amusement at his grand entrance. His coffee has already been made, though it's lukewarm by now. On instinct, James looks over to where he usually sits only to see a head of blonde locks sitting lazily over his seat in the back. The black leather completely covered by his muscular body as he lays down. Stretching that toned-- _ Stop James, you’re being a creep now _ . However, James can’t help but stare at the slip of skin being revealed as his shirt rode up while he spread out his arms. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, James?” Sam pipes up from behind him, in the middle of creaming a customer’s latte. James swears under his breath, and begins a jog towards the door before sprinting down the street. Whoever that sexy, blonde hunk was, he sure wasn’t sitting in James’ seat again.


	3. Steve's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immediate attraction ;)

Steve watches in surprise as the man, a very attractive man at that, busts through the doors of the café grabs his coffee and just speeds off. But not without looking at him. Steve doesn't know what to do. The man looks better head-on with bright blue eyes, and hair the color of chocolate. Steve gulps.  _ Oh gosh, oh gosh, he’s staring at me looooook cooooooollll. He’ll probably look away soon.  _ Nope. The man kept staring.  _ Don’t. Look. At. His. Pants.  _ For the man, was wearing very, very,  _ very tight pants.  Only men who know their handsome wear those pants! YOU DON’T EVEN WEAR THOSE PANTS! Don’t be weird, Don’t be weird.  _ Steve, for lack of a better idea, tries to sip his frappe. The man is distracted by the barista, Sam, who is a pretty funny guy actually, unlike Starbucks’ unfortunately brain-dead barista, just long enough for Steve to spill his frappe all over himself.  _ Goddammit! Goddammit Steve!  _ Steve ducks under the table, suddenly self-conscious, what if he laughs at him?  _ Stop. He’s a stranger? Who cares? _

“I kind of care.” Steve asides, but the sudden sound of feet squeaking across the floor and the door swinging open seems to signify the handsome stranger’s departure.  _ Aw! He’s gone. _ Steve mentally kicked himself. When will he see him again? Probably never. Steve sighs outwardly. A loud laugh causes Steve to look up. It had come from Sam the barista, doubled over, holding his stomach and laughing uncontrollably.

“That James Barnes! He….can’t...he...can’t be on time...for anything! HA!” Sam wheezes as the customer he's serving asking if he is okay.

“James Barnes. That’s a nice name.” Steve wonders aloud to himself as he looks at the door, retracing where the man had ran out in a hurry. Sam turns, he had heard the blond man, Steve he thinks, whisper….something.

“Yeah. He’s always running up in here, late as usual. When is he gonna learn.” Sam pauses, a spot had appeared on the counter. “Not you again, I thought I bleached you out!”

Steve stops listening at that point. An idea had popped into Steve’s head, a crazy one, but an idea nonetheless.


	4. Bucky's POV

_ Shit _ . James thinks. _ I’m late, and my boss Natasha is about to rip my throat out and feed it to her boy-toy Bruce.  _ James jogs through the long hallways of his new building, the company he works at was sold to Stark Industries a month ago and he still was getting lost when he tried to navigate through the building.

He finally arrives at his office, opening the door quietly and making his way to his cubicle where he would spend the next 3 hours selling useless things to people who didn’t want it 

He downs the rest of his drink then throws it skillfully into the trash barrel under his desk before putting his headphones on and starting his normal routine.

 

Nearly 15 minutes into his endeavor, a cold slim hand seats itself comfortably onto his shoulder. Bucky pauses in his work, puts on his brightest smile before turning around to meet the equally as bright face of Natasha Romanoff. 

“You are looking lovely today, Mrs. Romanoff.” Bucky states as suavely as he can muster so early in the day.

“Why are you late today, Mr. Buchanan?” Getting right to the point, as Natasha usually does, James hesitates before answering. Her friendly facade is in full effect today and she’s not leaving until she gets an answer.

“There was this guy at the bus station who seemed to be intoxicated, if you will. He made the bus driver stop five times. When I realized these interruptions weren’t going to end any time soon, I decided that I’d most likely get to the office quicker if I walked the rest of the way.”

“Hmm. This is the fourth time this month you’ve been thirty minutes late to your job. I expect you to arrive here on time everyday.” Her smile drops. “Do you understand?”

James nods quickly and firmly, watching her walk away, the clicking of her heels loud enough to hear over the many voices in the office.

Praising the Lord for Natasha not ripping him a new one, he swiftly gets back to work, not wasting a minute of his time so that he could catch up on the work that should be done by now. The hours pass quickly and before James knows it, his shift is over. He packs up his stuff and heads out, returning to the his bud’s coffee shop to hang out like he usually does.


End file.
